Vegas Knockout by P Moss

Author:P Moss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: P Moss, fiction, Las Vegas, boxing, gambling, sex. losers, diner, crimnals, clowns, con man, dark fiction, gritty, Sin City, Bloodcocks UK, Attack Ships on Fire, CityLife Books, Frankie's Tiki Room, Double Down Saloon
Publisher: P Moss
Published: 2012-07-19T00:00:00+00:00

Sole Survivor

“You walk funny,” the kid said, in that way a nine-year-old has where you don’t know if it’s an innocent remark or a wisecrack.

“I suppose I do, young man,” replied the bellman, whose body bent crooked to the right from fifty-two years of carrying suitcases for guests checking into the Flamingo Hotel. His career had begun before rollers and before baggage carts, and he still, as a point of pride, carried bags the old-fashioned way whenever possible.

The kid pointed to the bellman’s well-worn shoes. “You steal those off some homeless guy?”

“What did you say, Angel?” the kid’s mother asked, preoccupied as she stuck her head in the gift shop to check out a magazine cover.

“Nothing, Mommy. Just thanking the nice man for carrying our bags,” the kid answered sweetly. Then turned back to the bellman. “So what about the shoes, old man? You find ’em in the trash?”

It had taken years of hard work to break in the bellman’s black Red Wing slip-ons. Shoes that fit his fallen arches like a glove with the right outside sole worn down to a nub. Comfortable as he gripped a Samsonite two-suiter in his right hand while balancing a backpack and makeup case with his left. Standing dutifully as the kid made a fuss about a Killer Kong action figure in a gift shop display.

“Can I have it, Mommy?”

She asked the bellman if he knew how much it cost.

He shifted the weight of the bags and asked his friend Lucille, who worked behind the counter. Then told the lady, “The price is $89.”

“Sorry, Angel,” she apologized to the kid. “That’s too expensive.”

“Please, Mommy. Killer Kong is my favorite fighter. Please, please, pleeeease.”

“You heard the man say how much it cost.”

“Screw you, cripple.” The kid kicked at the bellman, but the old man deflected the blow with the Samsonite. “I’ll get even with you.”

“What did you say, Angel?”

“Nothing, Mommy. I was just thanking the nice man again for carrying our bags.”

But under his breath the kid threatened revenge as he blamed the bellman for the denial of the action figure. And all the way to the fourteenth floor he glared at him. Didn’t blink once, even after the bellman got them settled into the room and handed the lady her key.

She gave him a dollar.

“Thank you, ma’am. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay at the Flamingo.”

Tips certainly weren’t what they used to be, the bellman thought as he rode back down the elevator to resume his duties at the bell desk. Reminiscing, as he often did, about the glory days of the hotel. He had shaken hands with everyone from Jack Dempsey to Jack Kennedy, and boy did he have stories.

But the Flamingo had long been off the celebrity map. These days Harrah’s owned the hotel, and though changing their corporate name to Caesars may have classed up the letterhead, it was evident that the company did not take similar pride in the declining property. A shabby, jerry-rigged relic two steps down from when Hilton owned it, and in free fall from the top spot it had claimed when colonized by the mob.

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